In Darkness Born
by Sapphire Warrioress
Summary: He was worshiped as the highest god of Calormene, despised throughout Narnia as a creature of death and violence. But how much is truly known about Tash or his divine brethren?
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

The preparations had been going on for three days.

Every slave in the royal palace was expected to perform their tasks flawlessly, knowing that the punishments for any failure would be severe.

Many went about their work in tense silence; only when out of their masters' hearing did they dare to whisper together in excitement.

For the past week nobles from all corners of the empire had been arriving in Charn, descendents of the most respected and ancient families whose bloodline could be traced back generations to the birth of their nation.

They came at the command of their king, a ruthless and cunning ruler, who had requested their presence at a feast he was preparing in their honor.

Many in Charn whispered that their monarch must have taken much gold from the royal treasury for this feast, perhaps even the golden goblets and dishes which had been in the family for generations would once again adorn the royal table at this banquet.

And beneath the speculation of slave and peasant, aristocrat and soldier, ran a strong current of fear.

For Charn had long ago become an empire known for its cruelty and determination to rule unchallenged.

Many rich cities had fallen to the strength of her armies, unable to stand against the ferocity and skill of Charn's warriors.

For many centuries the kings of this empire had been ruthless in their quest for power, and any whisper of rebellion was immediately crushed with brutal efficiency.

Thus it was right for the people of Charn to wonder at the king's summoning of so many nobles, to ask if only in their thoughts if he didn't have a dark purpose in mind behind this outward pretence of welcome and honest friendship.

In the royal kitchens it was organized chaos.

The heat from the ovens had become stifling hours ago, and the normally even tempered cook Mara was snapping out orders like a general directing soldiers.

She could count the number of times so many lords and nobles had been summoned to the palace during her time as a servant.

And unlike those other occasions, she sensed that great danger awaited all who would feast with the king this night.

It was these vague premonitions which caused her to snap at the slaves assisting her with the preparations for the banquet.

Already loaves of bread were being removed from the ovens, only to be replaced by an assortment of pastries and cakes.

Other slaves ran back and forth in a frantic dance, as she directed them all with an air of confidence and efficiency.

She had worked long and hard to become the palace cook, yet it brought her no satisfaction. The only joy she received, was the knowledge that every dish sent to the royal table was a testament to her creativity and insistence that every course set before the king and queen would be perfect.

Otherwise the consequences could be severe. She was not the first cook to be executed. And she considered herself blessed to have survived the past five years without receiving more than a few beatings.

A proud smile briefly illuminated her tired face as she called for silence.

The sounds of lively conversations and the occasional snatch of song soon died away, to be replaced by the constant crackle of flames and the hiss of boiling pots.

For she had long ago earned the respect of every servant assigned to work under her instruction.

"I want to thank you all. This feast is to be attended by many of the greatest lords in the kingdom, and I expect it will be talked of by everyone in Charn for many weeks to come.

I'm grateful for all of your help and dedication, for without you I would never have finished in time."

A chorus of response greeted this speech, and she acknowledged it with a smile and quick nod of thanks.

Many slaves turned back to their work, with the exception of a few Mara signaled to approach.

Puzzled and somewhat apprehensive, they followed her to a deserted corner.

Suspecting their fear she spoke calmly in an attempt to lay their anxieties to rest.

"I know you all have served at the king's table before, but I'm uneasy about this feast. I can't explain why, but something tells me that what happens tonight will decide the fate of our empire."

At their looks of incredulous skepticism she continued. "You all know me. I consider myself a sensible woman, and have never set much store by what some call premonitions, or knowledge of what will come to pass. I'm not even convinced that our gods exist, for they have never answered my prayers.

I know you must be wondering why I wanted to speak with you specifically, so I'll come straight to the point."

Her eyes rested briefly on each curious face, as she gathered her courage to speak.

"I need hardly remind you of the expected role of a slave serving our king and his guests. If they insult or ridicule you, act as if you never heard their words.

But I want to remind you of a tradition that has existed since the birth of slavery in our empire, because if what I fear happens it may be your only hope of safety.

So often we are overlooked. Those born to wealth and privilege tend to act as if we don't exist. Many times a slave may learn much about the secrets of a kingdom, because his masters forget that he is listening as he performs his duties.

I'm not ordering you to follow my advice, but if something does happen tonight I urge you to take advantage of this ancient custom.

Use it to make your escape from any danger within the banquet hall, and hopefully we may laugh about my fears on the morrow."

Mara's final comment was spoken with a mix of forced cheerfulness and a note of desperate hope she refused to let die.

The slaves she had chosen cast her puzzled and anxious glances as they returned to their tasks. They had known her for five years, and in all that time she had never taken slaves aside to reiterate their responsibilities or warn them of coming disaster.

For this reason, they all silently agreed to keep a sharp lookout for anything that might develop into a dangerous situation.

From her place at the hearth Mara watched the slaves chosen to serve their king, and hoped her words were enough to prompt them to be on their guard.

Every slave she had taught and trained carefully, not just because her masters expected to be served the best food, but because in her own way she was hoping to keep at least a few servants from being executed over trivial mistakes.

Throughout the slave quarters she had become known as a strict and demanding woman, who would accept nothing less than the best workers in her kitchen.

There were times when she thought that her efforts were pointless. Charn had long ago become corrupted by cruelty and malice, so what chance did she a mere servant have of keeping even the smallest flame of hope alive?

And yet she still tried with dogged determination, for if she forsook the hope that her people might find the strength to restore honor and justice to their nation, then she would succumb to the darkness threatening to destroy all of Charn.

So she did what she could, knowing that few would realize her true purpose behind the hard words and critical comments which fell so easily from her lips.

At sunset she cast one final glance over the prepared delicacies, her dark eyes missing nothing as slaves arranged the work of 3 days on silver and gold platters.

One slave faltered in her work, nearly dropping one of the costly dishes, and Mara's sharp reprimand rang throughout the kitchen.

"Girl these platters and vessels are precious, and have been in the royal treasury for many generations. Handle them carefully, and let me never see you treat such heirlooms so casually again."

Stammering an apology, the unfortunate girl continued to place an assortment of fruits on the silver dish.

Inwardly Mara wished she had not scolded so harshly, for this maid was a gentle girl and unused to such barbed comments on her work.

But better a few tears and looks of censure, than a mistake which could cost the girl her life.

The ruler of Charn watched impassively as slaves went about their work in tense silence.

Not since his coronation 18 years ago had this old banquet hall been used, as it was the largest the palace contained and few feasts this elaborate were ever held.

But if his plan was to have even the remotest chance of success, this hall was the obvious choice.

His guests had been carefully chosen according to the information given to him by trusted men.

Nor was that the only means he had for discovering treachery within the empire.

His command of magic was limited; the spells he had learned from the sacred texts of his people were the first to be mastered by a student of sorcery.

Over the years of his reign, he had used his power cautiously, often in an effort to crush any rebels who planned to end his rule.

It was through magic that he became aware of the rebellious thoughts of Charn's ancient families.

The knowledge of men meeting in secret, of warriors determined to defend their cause and mothers willing to take up the sword to protect their children had dominated his thoughts.

Such was the nature of this subtle magic; for it searched out any who had ill intent towards its caster, and whispered every word of their secret plots to the heart of the wielder.

Often he had wished that the gods had blessed him with the ability to become a true sorcerer, for he greatly desired the power and fear such a title would bestow.

Many of his ancestors had been able to wield magic, a skill which helped as they took up the mantle of king.

Charn's queens had become famed for their command of the darker magics

, earning the grudging respect of their husbands and their people for their deadly use of power in times of war.

His queen was one of the few of Charn's nobility who possessed no special ability.

Her lack of magical prowess often caused people to underestimate her, a mistake they soon lived to regret.

For beneath her dark beauty was a mind capable of ruthless and cunning acts, and a love of the dark which had swiftly bound them together at their joining.

It had been at her suggestion that he had cast the spell which brought him such vital knowledge, and together they had concocted this callous plan.

Tonight their enemies would fall.

For a moment he faltered, knowing that many of noble blood would feast here this night in ignorance of his true purpose.

So many of the chivalric customs had long ago been abandoned by his people.

But one tradition which had not been forgotten over the centuries was the sacred duty of a host to his guests.

Even when many of the old decrees had been declared worthless, the law of courtesy had never fallen out of favor with the previous monarchs.

For this reason he had at first protested his wife's scheme, reluctant to break one of the most sacred traditions of their empire.

Rarely did their wills clash, but the scorn and contempt with which she had greeted his uncertainty had shocked even him.

"Husband, if you refuse to do what must be done, than I will ask another more powerful sorcerer to assist me in conquering our enemies. This rebellion must be crushed, and if you cannot find the strength to take steps to secure our power than I will act in your stead."

That threat had immediately silenced any further objections, and he had willingly consented to the plan she had outlined.

It was a pity that Marcus had to be sacrificed, for his family had been in the service of Charn's monarchs for generations.

Marcus was not only a wise counselor, but a master of the sword and a respected commander.

Any soldier who fought under Marcus spoke of his bravery and his concern for the welfare of his men.

Yes, he would be sorry to lose one of his closest and most intelligent advisors.

But the sacrifice must be made so that he might unlock a secret the royal family had guarded for centuries, one it was said had been told to the first king and queen of Charn by one of the most powerful beings in all worlds.

And if the price for this knowledge was a few killings, then so be it.

He had chosen each warrior for their knowledge of court protocol and their predilection for brutality and love of the sadistic.

Every man had been sworn to secrecy, for though all in Charn would hear of the results of his plan, none would ever know who had been involved.

Knowing that his guests must suspect nothing until it was too late, had prompted him to choose warriors who could easily pass as noble lords or courtiers.

The sound of distant trumpets abruptly cut short his reflections.

Casting one final look around the banquet hall, Charn's king hurried to the steps of the palace to greet his guests.

Tonight, every rebel would be silenced, and he and his queen would learn a secret which any sorcerer would kill to possess.

_Note from the authoress: This story is going to be different from my other Narnian tales, first of all because it's a novel and second because it will probably be darker than my other Narnia fics._

_The idea for exploring the stories behind Tash and the other gods of Calormene came to me recently, and I'm looking forward to writing a believable history for these often overlooked characters from Lewis's Chronicles._

_I'm hoping to incorporate events from the whole series, and will definitely bring in the Pevensies and other Narnian characters._

_There will be elements of Norse, Egyptian and Greek mythology, as well as ideas from fairy tales which pop up every now and then, so prepare yourself for a rather unusual story._

_And if you're wondering what on earth made me start off by setting the prologue in Charn, you'll find out soon as I develop the ideas and plot of the story._

_I'm looking forward to sharing this tale with you and as always would love to know what you think in a review._

_Thanks _for_ reading._


	2. Chapter 2 Fallen Warrior

Marcus watched the familiar sites of Charn with a mixture of wonder and apprehension as he urged his horse into a trot.

He had come to the capital many times, and still he marveled at the many wonders Charn presented for the awe of her visitors.

The ornate temples and houses of the rich, many decorated with enough wealth to keep a family in comfort for many a year.

The great river which lay at the center of the city, a source of life to all who lived within her walls.

Indeed many honored the river, claiming that it possessed a powerful guardian who answered to no one save the keepers of Charn's destiny.

Behind him came many lords, some on horseback, others in chariots in response to the summons from the king.

They were the last to arrive, as their homes and lands were some distance from the capital and the journey took many days of hard travel.

He had received the scroll two weeks ago, delivered to his door by royal messenger when he had been dining with friends.

Recognizing the royal seal, he had opened it at once, forcing his face to remain impassive as he read its contents.

Only after his guests had departed did he show it to Sara.

Her reaction was immediate.

"You mustn't go."

"I can't refuse a summons from the king; you know that as well as I do."

"But what if the king suspects something?" Her voice was filled with concern and the fear she struggled to govern.

"Then I will do my best to allay his suspicions, and the gods willing return to you soon."

"Do you think someone has betrayed us? I know we were careful with asking others to join us, and I can't imagine any of them turning against us now."

"It's possible, and a risk we took when we started this. But what would you have had me do? Remain silent while our people suffer under the rule of a king and queen who care not for mercy or justice?"

Still she tried to dissuade him, protested that she should accompany him until he had reluctantly pointed out that she hadn't been mentioned in the summons.

She would be waiting anxiously for his return, for she was not the only woman who had chosen to join his cause.

He smiled as he thought of her slender figure and raven hair, and her eyes filled with warmth and affection.

They had been betrothed on his sixteenth birthday according to the wishes of their parents.

Many thought the marriage of the son of a great general, and the daughter of a rich lord to be most respectable.

They had been fortunate. For not all arranged marriages were as contented as theirs.

Sara had been a great help to him when they began planning rebellion.

It was she who had pointed out that it was a pity they had never found a sorcerer to join their cause.

Often when he met with his fellow conspirators in secret, Marcus had wished for one skilled in magic to conceal their plans and thoughts from being overheard.

Thoughts of home were quickly put aside as he approached the palace gates.

The guards knew him well, and offered the commander a respectful salute as he entered the courtyard.

With the ease born of countless hours on horseback, Marcus dismounted and crossed the courtyard to the palace steps where the king awaited his guests.

So focused was he on displaying no outward sign of nervousness, that he scarcely noticed the arrival of the other nobles as they dismounted their horses or jumped down from their chariots to join him.

As one they bowed before their monarch, offering him greetings and thanks for his invitation.

The king smiled upon them all before beckoning them forward.

"I welcome you all according to the ancient law of courtesy as honored guests. Come my lords, all is in readiness and the feast awaits us. I hope that you will find the hospitality of my house to your liking, and while you remain under my roof I ask that you consider all I own to be yours."

A practiced speech, Marcus thought as he walked through the golden doors into the vast entrance hall. It's in keeping with tradition and yet I can't help but wonder if something dark is at work this night.

The king led his guests through many richly appointed rooms, passed the fabled hall of images where statues of Charns' monarchs sat in silent glory.

Marcus recalled one visit he had made with Sara to the palace two years ago, how they had spent some time amongst this tribute to history admiring the exquisite workmanship of the sculptors and artists.

Sara's comment, that the first kings and queens of their nation possessed a warmth and quiet strength had prompted him to wonder.

Had his people fallen so far that kindness or mercy were considered a weakness?

It was then the seeds of rebellion had taken root, and together with Sara he had begun to carefully plan and select people who would be willing to join their cause.

They passed through a pillared courtyard, with a magnificent fountain at its center, up many grand staircases and through endless passages before two slaves pulled open the doors to the banquet hall.

It was the most elaborate feast Marcus had ever attended, containing many exotic dishes and foods he greatly enjoyed.

Course after course of rich and delicious fare was set before the king and his guests, and there was much talk and laughter as the feast continued late into the evening.

Seated at the right of the king, Marcus ate well, but made sure to drink only a little wine with his meal.

Outwardly he was calm and relaxed, as he forced himself to eat and carry on conversation, but inside his thoughts were frantic with worry and the sense that death was close.

As the king called for the best wine to be served, Marcus's suspicions grew.

His warrior's training had honed his talent for observation, and what he glimpsed in the eyes of Charn's ruler as he smiled upon his guests was deadly.

Marcus had seen that look before, in soldiers who reveled in the chaos and violence of battle. He also knew what it was to be tempted by the siren call of darkness, the urge to take delight in the ease of a kill and the spilling of an enemy's blood.

It was a struggle which never ended, for as his Sara had once told him when he had spoken of his fears, all men were capable of dark deeds. What mattered in the end was the choice made whenever temptation grew strong. It was a choice which would confront every human being until the moment of his death.

Now as his gaze met the king's across the laden table, he thanked the gods for Sara's wise counsel.

King and warrior saw in that brief moment of contact the truth of an ancient saying.

For what the ruler of Charn glimpsed was a soul of courage and honor, determined to do all in his power to end the reign of his king.

Marcus looked beneath the outward mask of pretended friendship and welcome, and saw a mind steeped in corruption and darkness, and the chilling knowledge that he and his fellow conspirators would meet their end this night.

How did he know?

Marcus knew from the moment he began planning rebellion, that a betrayal was a very real possibility.

He had carefully chosen the men and women who would advise and support him, and knew that they shared his convictions.

But trust was something rarely found in Charn, an empire hardened and corrupted by cruelty and malice.

His mind considered and disregarded many possible answers before arriving at the one he feared the most.

For centuries stories had been told of the royal family's command of sorcery, though many claimed that it was the women who possessed a stronger talent for the darker magics.

Indeed he had often wondered if the ruling family were not wholly human as they claimed, but carried the blood of those born to sorcery in their veins.

Could those rumors be true?

It would make sense. If the king had even the smallest trace of magic, he would be able to seek out and find those disloyal to his kingdom easily.

A choked cry at the furthest end of the table drew every eye in the hall, just in time to see one of the noble lords fall from his seat in mortal agony.

Others who had drunk from the silver pitchers of wine soon joined their comrade in a slow and horrific death.

The king stood and motioned to the warriors he had chosen to begin their bloody task.

Some said afterwards the killings were by poison alone, others that the nobles who planned revolution were executed by the sword or struck down by an expertly cast spear.

The truth was that many were sacrificed to a king's lust for power on that ancient winter's night, victims of sword and arrow, dagger and poison mixed with the best wine.

So swift and deadly did the king's warriors act, that not even the slaves had the chance to heed Mara's advice.

For the king wanted none left alive to speak the names of those he had chosen to play the part of assassin.

Marcus was the last to die.

He watched in horror as the banquet hall became a place of death, as the sounds of merriment were soon replaced with the clash of weapons and the screams and groans of the dying.

Around him many of his friends fought grimly, and though he tried valiantly to save a few in the end his efforts proved futile.

Soon the floor was littered with the corpses of the fallen, pools of spilled wine mingled with the blood of the slain.

Knowing that his only chance of surviving the carnage around him lay in his skill with the sword, he had quickly snatched one from a fallen lord and fought for his life.

The king watched as Marcus cut down warrior after warrior, awed at the man's skill with a blade.

Truly this was a master of the sword, a warrior who deserved an honorable death.

At his side the queen sat continuing her meal as if nothing had happened.

Only when she glimpsed the indecision in the eyes of her husband did she rise from her throne.

Withdrawing a dagger from her robes she took careful aim, feeling no remorse at the prospect of slaying her instructor.

For it had been Marcus who had acquiesced to her request to teach her how to defend herself with a dagger; spent many hours with his queen until he was convinced she would become a capable fighter.

She struck with the speed of a deadly serpent, driving the dagger deep into his throat, meeting his look of shock and betrayal with a cold smile of triumph and joy in her first kill.

Marcus's last thoughts were for Sara, and a prayer to any gods listening that he and his friends might someday be avenged.

After it was over the king left that hall of death, following a complicated route only the royal family was privileged to know, until at last he stood in a secret chamber where the knowledge of dark magic was kept.

Stories regarding the exact details of the sacrifice were scarce, so he had decided that the killings must be done in a number of ways so that the magic he was about to learn might be satisfied.

He spoke into the darkness, words laced with the power of all those he had ordered slain this night.

"I have performed the sacrifice according to the tales passed down through my family. Let me hear the word of power, one which is death to mortal flesh and spirit.

I seek to know and wield its strength against my enemies, so that I will rule unchallenged and forge Charn into a mighty empire.

By the blood of those slain and the power of dark sorcery I ask for this knowledge."

To an observer it appeared as if nothing had happened, for there was no visible evidence that the king's petition had been received.

But within the king stirred the knowledge that he had been heard, and now was the time for judgment.

That part of him that was sorcerer was keenly aware of a growing sense of power.

Something ancient, perhaps formed at the birth of all worlds was awakening in response to his call.

Willingly he opened his thoughts to this presence, reveling in the darkness and the promise of death it bore.

So long it had waited for this moment, when a mortal king would dare to corrupt the ancient law of courtesy.

At the dawn of creation, it was conceived out of darkness. Woven out of the forbidden thoughts and passions of men, it lay sleeping at the heart of the empire which was to be named Charn.

Shaped over the centuries like the most intricate of sculptures, it became a word which could never be uttered in the tongues of men or beasts.

It made its presence known in a thousand subtle ways, allowing a faint echo of its power to be heard in the thoughts of those it deemed worthy, to give voice to its hunger for death and destruction.

Always those of royal blood were chosen, rulers who held within their souls the power and will to give the word form.

The first monarchs of Charn it ignored, for they did not demonstrate that unique combination of determination, cruelty and callous indifference to suffering which a speaker must possess. Nor did any of Charn's ancient kings succumb to the siren call of the dark, to the extent that it would be able to flourish within the kingdom.

This one however, was worth examination.

And so it weighed and pronounced its judgment of the sacrifice this ruler offered

Yes, he had been creative when it came to the slaughter, and the desire for power and conquest was there.

But beneath it all was the barest flicker of regret that those who had served him well and possessed noble lineage must be sacrificed.

Regretfully it decided to reject this mortal's petition, reluctantly deciding that it must wait until one was born who had a hunger to match its own.

This ruler was a monarch to be feared, a mortal capable of many cruel and violent acts. But deep within him were thoughts which a speaker must not possess.

For he sought this power not because he felt its siren call, but out of a desperate hope that by using it he could conquer every enemy of his empire with ease.

So it reasoned, and spoke to the mind of this mortal king who had awoken it from its long sleep.

"You are not worthy. For there is a part of you which regrets the death of so many who were of noble blood.

Your sacrifice has lent me strength, and there will come a time when a speaker will be born who will be strong enough to wield me with ease.

She will be a woman of strength and power, ruthless in her desire to rule through fear and the dark ways of sorcery.

In thanks for your sacrifice I will tell you this much.

She will be of your lineage, three generations hence."

Fury stirred within him that a woman would be blessed with the strength to speak this sacred word. His queen would be pleased, for she firmly believed that women were far more capable of using the darker magics than men.

At least he would have the honor of being an ancestor of this chosen speaker.

That knowledge brought him some comfort amidst the disappointment that he had not been selected.

Also he knew that the chances of another rebellion would be rare when word of the killings reached his people.

In that knowledge he went to find his queen, hoping that she would be content with the honor of being named ancestor to the word's chosen speaker.

_Note from the authoress: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but my computer was in for repairs after a couple of major harddrive crashes, and I only got it back a couple of days ago_

_Some of the descriptions of the forming of the deplorable word are taken directly from my story The Two Sisters, I just changed a few things to fit with the context of this chapter.._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate all of your comments._

_Next we are introduced to Tash, and two other goddesses of Calormene Lewis mentioned in the Chronicles._

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter._

Thanks_ for reading._


	3. Chapter 3 Sara's Hope

_Note from the authoress: Thanks everyone for all of the wonderful feedback, I appreciate each comment and the time it took to post your thoughts._

_Thanks to a _reviewer_ who wanted to know what happened to Mara, I'd forgotten that I'd notes on her until you reminded me._

_Note that Azaroth and Zardeenah are mentioned in The Horse and His Boy, but we know next to nothing about who they were, how they were worshipped and what they commanded._

_The next chapter will deal exclusively with those questions, and of course Tash's role as well._

_Thanks for reading._

_Enjoy._

They came at dawn, summoned from all corners of the palace at the command of their king and queen.

Some were maids, others soldiers, called before the thrones of their monarchs to fulfill an as yet unnamed task.

At the back of the group stood Mara. Accompanied by ten slaves who served as helpers in the royal kitchen.

She had found no rest this night, for the slaves sent to serve the king and his guests had not returned.

Knowing how late such feasts often lasted, Mara was at first inclined to dismiss their absence with any number of reasonable excuses.

But as the night wore on, and dawn drew ever closer, she could not ignore the feeling that something was dreadfully amiss.

Now here she stood, twisting the folds of her apron in nervous anticipation as the king rose to speak.

"Your queen and I have a task for you all which we expect to be completed by noon.

Some of you older servants have helped with such work before, and so I expect you to assist the younger slaves should they falter."

He beckoned to a soldier guarding the doors of the throne room. "This warrior will take you to the room. Other slaves will be waiting for you there with the supplies you will need. Afterwards you will proceed to the stables where horses and litters are ready.

You are dismissed."

Automatically Mara followed, traversing passages and ascending stairs she had never walked before, until at last they came to the intricately carved doors of Charn's oldest banquet hall.

Her vague fears for the slaves sent to serve at the feast, and the nobles who had arrived at the palace the night before were increased by the words of the king.

For she recalled a similar speech he had made a month after she had begun to work at the palace.

She with other servants had been given cryptic orders, only to discover that their task was to prepare corpses of those disloyal to Charn for return to their families, and make sure that no evidence of the slaughter was left behind.

I don't want to know what's behind that door. With rulers like these two it's bound to be something horrific.

Ignorant of the cook's thoughts, the soldier marched forward briskly and pulled open the heavy oak doors.

Mara standing at the end of the line of servants, felt her terror rise as those before her passed through the door in utter silence.

Finally it was her turn.

Gathering her courage she stepped forward.

And it took all of her strength to stifle the scream of shock and horror at the carnage spread out before her.

She knew little of war, but as she gazed about the hall Mara thought that the seen must be similar to a field of battle.

This impression was heightened as she saw the ways in which the nobles had died.

Some had been killed by the sword, others taken down by a thrown spear, while at the center of the table lay the bodies of those struck down by arrows.

Others looked as if they had been poisoned, and Mara was thankful that it had not been given in any of the food she had prepared.

Automatically she moved forward to join the slaves in their grim task, horrified that her king and queen would dare to break the sacred law of courtesy so completely and without regret.

Skirting the body of another fallen lord, Mara stopped suddenly as her eyes fell on a small figure next to an overturned candelabra.

If not for the warm gold of the hair she would never have recognized the girl, for her eyes were immediately drawn to the deep slash in the slender throat.

It was the girl she had reprimanded only a few short hours ago who now lay dead at her feet.

Forcing back a sob Mara reached to close the corpse's eyes, angered at the pointless tragic death of one so young.

The work continued in grim silence, broken only by a quiet request for assistance, or the clatter of a weapon laid carefully aside.

When at last it was done, Mara left that place of death, vowing that she would never set foot in that room again as long as she lived.

With the other slaves she carried the corpses of the slain to the stables, and placed each on a litter as directed by the king.

For what seemed like hours she was kept constantly at work.

But it wasn't until the last corpse was brought out by a young soldier that the impact of her monarchs' cruelty took on personal significance.

Worn out after her sleepless night and the efforts to set the banquet hall to rights, she eventually asked to be put to work in the stables finding horses to pull the litters.

As she made her way down the row of stalls, one of the horses thrust his head forward and whinnied in recognition.

Cold horror filled her, for she knew that this was a horse that belonged to Marcus.

At that moment the young warrior entered the stable and bent to lay the final corpse down.

Light from the open stable door fell upon its lifeless face.

Marcus.

He had been one of the few nobles who came to the kitchen to thank her for her efforts, whenever he had been invited to attend a feast at the palace.

His gentle wife had even approached her, to ask if she would be willing to join their cause.

Fear of discovery had kept her from accepting, and so she had chosen to work in secret, doing what she could to save a few slaves from the executioner's blade through example and hard lessons.

Sara had commended her for her bravery, saying that few would thank or even realize Mara's true intentions.

Sorrow filled the royal cook, and she determined then and there that she would bring Marcus's body back to Sara.

And if the king was furious about losing the services of his cook for a few days, than he could just find someone else to take her place.

It was a site unlike anything the citizens of Charn had ever seen before.

A long and solemn procession of soldiers and slaves on horseback wound its way through Charn's streets, behind each horse was fastened a litter draped in the colors of mourning.

Many wondered what had taken the lives of so many high born lords.

But deep within each person suspected the truth, knew that their fears concerning the king's summoning of so many important nobles were now becoming a reality before their eyes.

Each citizen knew this display for what it was. A powerful reminder that their king and queen would permit no one to rise up against them in rebellion.

All of Charn stood in respectful silence tempered with fear, as the procession approached the city gates.

Some wanted to call out, to honor these men who had been so cruelly slain.

Yet they dared not, knowing that any act of rebellion no matter how small could mean that they and their families would share a similar fate.

Mara walked beside Marcus's litter drawn by the commanders own horse.

So lost was she in sorrow, that she didn't notice when a soldier made his way through the crowd to her side.

Only when he took up a position on the right of the litter did she acknowledge his presence.

"I'd like to help you take him to his wife, if you'll allow me. It's a long way, and I dare say you could use the help." Seeing her indecision he continued.

"I served under Marcus in three wars. He was my friend, and a brilliant commander. Often he helped me with my weapons training, and I came to respect him as a just and honorable man."

The impassive mask which Mara had worn ever since the king's summons shattered, broken by the kind words and the real grief she glimpsed in the face of this young warrior. She relented, grateful for the offer of help and the fact that she wouldn't have to travel alone.

The journey was long and hard, but at last the house came into sight.

Sara opened the door in answer to the soldier's brisk knock, and her dark eyes went at once to the litter tied behind Marcus's horse.

In as few words as possible Mara's escort explained what had happened, offering his sympathies and a respectful salute before turning his horse back towards the city.

Sara beckoned to Mara and the cook gratefully entered the house.

For a moment they did not speak, then unable to bear the silence Mara voiced a question which had been tormenting her from the moment she had looked on the face of her dead friend.

"When will it end Sara? How many are going to be sacrificed to our rulers and their lust for power?"

When Sara answered, it was in a voice Mara had never heard before. Her friend normally so gentle became a woman afire with the need for vengeance as she answered Mara's question.

"I promise you Mara, somehow I'll find a way to make those excuses for human beings pay for what they did to my Marcus. I won't let what he fought for be forgotten. I swear it."

Mara nodded, knowing that if it was possible Sara would take up her husband's role as leader of their rebellion regardless of the consequences.

Yet there were other ways to seek vengeance, and although she had long ago begun to wonder if the gods cared for the people under their rule, she was willing to ask for their help in this instance.

"Sara, not even our rulers can stop you from requesting the aid of our gods. Let us ask them to grant our request for vengeance."

Together they stood to pray, joined in friendship, sorrow and the desire to see that their monarchs' actions would not go unpunished.

Mara began, in the hope that her request would be heard.

"Oh Azaroth sustainer of life, and Zardeenah who blessed the joining of Marcus and Sara these ten years past, I ask that you grant this request. Let not these deaths go unpunished.

Pour out your vengeance on those who have dared to break our sacred law of courtesy."

Sara hesitated for a moment, before addressing a being which many in Charn considered mere legend.

"And thou creator of all worlds, you who my husband reverenced and I now worship, please receive and honor his sacrifice in your kingdom. Do not let these deaths go unpunished, for I truly believe that many who were slain acknowledged you as their lord, even though all who honor you know not your name."

It wasn't until the funeral rites were over, that Mara found time to speak to her friend about her unusual prayer.

"My friend, you truly believe there is a creator, someone higher than our gods?"

"At first I didn't, I only learned about him when I went with Marcus to the palace two years ago.

The king had requested his advice and leadership of a small army to defeat our enemies.

So while he was in counsel I spent a lot of time in the palace library. There I found a drawing in an ancient book, of a great lion and the strange tale that he was this creator."

"But Sara, what of the other gods we worship, and their place in the universe?

What of Azaroth sustainer of life, or Tash bringer of death who takes joy in the blood of the slain?"

"I asked myself the same questions Mara. Marcus and I spent many hours talking over what I found and its deeper meaning."

"And what did you decide?"

"Marcus and I came to the same conclusion, and he explained his ideas in terms a warrior would appreciate. I often take the more complicated route when it comes to reasoning something out, comes of having a father who taught me to love books and art.

This was how Marcus saw things.

In a kingdom, a king has many counselors and governors who oversee the different tasks of running an empire. Some assist him in politics, or war, others with matters concerning the royal treasury.

Yet in the end they all answer to the king, and his consort, because he has the greater power and responsibility. Are you with me so far?"

Mara nodded; excited by the ideas and questions her friend's recitation were beginning to stir within her spirit.

Sara continued. "So now put this scenario in the same context as the gods.

We have three important ones in Charn. Azaroth who spins each life thread and commands the elements. Zardeenah who measures the length of our days and is often called joy bringer.

And Tash who takes pleasure in war and many dark rituals.

Our priests say that they alone control our destinies, but what if they are wrong?

Azaroth for example, it is said that she sees the future of each destiny as it is formed, but where does that knowledge come from?

What if they are subject to the will of this creator, perhaps even unknowingly follow the course set for them by his power?"

Mara nodded. "Your argument makes sense; I might accept it given time. And it can't hurt to ask the help of the most powerful of gods.

Do you have a copy of that drawing?"

A gentle smile softened Sara's drawn features. "I've something better than that Mara. Follow me."

Sara led her friend towards the west side of the house, into the bedroom she had shared with Marcus for ten years.

The furnishings were simple and elegant, with rich tapestries and thick rugs scattered over the floor. .

Sara pointed to a painting above the fireplace.

"The drawing was very old, and I'm not sure I got all of the colors right, but I did my best."

Mara stood and stared in amazement at her friend's work.

Resting in an intricately carved frame of oak was the painting of a magnificent lion. So lifelike did the portrait appear that Mara almost expected the lion to come bounding out of the frame.

But what captured her gaze immediately were the eyes, for they held within a look of great wisdom, compassion, solemnity and love.

Sara smiled proudly, bestowing on the lion a look akin to that a priestess might offer a god.

"I didn't know you had such a talent, Sara it's beautiful..

"Marcus always liked to look at it. He said it gave him hope and the courage to keep on fighting for his people. If only it could do the same for me."

Broken by the weight of her sorrow she wept. Wept for the friend and beloved consort, and the empire that was slowly being robbed of her few glories.

And Mara held her friend close, praying to this one Sara called creator for the strength to help her people, and the courage to uphold the legacy of a man of honor.


	4. Chapter 4 The Keepers of Destiny

_Note from the authoress: Ideas behind the mythology of Tash and his brethren, as well as Achelous are taken from classical myths of The Moirae, and the Norse legends surrounding Yggdrasil._

_These concepts will play significant roles in other parts of this story, and I'm looking forward to developing them as this tale unfolds._

_Thanks for all of the thoughtful comments, I appreciate each one and would love your feedback for this chapter, especially Azaroth's retribution._

_Thanks for reading._

_Enjoy. _

"Well that was entertaining." The remark came from the eldest sibling as he expertly severed the thread of the last lord to fall.

Beside him Zardeenah nodded in agreement, a look of quiet satisfaction mix with cold fury upon her fair countenance.

Only the youngest sister remained silent, unwilling to offer an opinion on what had just taken place in Charn's royal palace on this bloody night.

"Azaroth, have you nothing to say?" It was Zardeenah who reached to lay a gentle hand on the youngest sister's shoulder, in a gesture which was meant to offer reassurance and comfort.

Azaroth drew back instinctively, knowing that her sister had taken joy in the deaths of those noble lords sickened and shocked her, though she knew that Zardeenah would have been drawn to the slaughter by the passionate hatred of Charn's rulers, and the strength of the lords' desire to restore honor to their nation. Her sister was a complex being, for while she rejoiced in the power these killings lent her essence, still she was angered by the cruelty of such unnecessary slaughter.

"What do you want me to say sister? You know what I think of tonight's business. Just because it was destined to happen doesn't make the weight of their deaths easier to ignore. I know you and my brother take joy in the passions of war, the seeking of power and the spilling of blood. But I-I can't.

I formed all of their destinies according to the futures I glimpsed at their births, and the urgings of the magic of this empire. You who represent the passions of men know how great these lords were. To see them all cut down so swiftly, in direct defiance of the law of courtesy is to me a great wrong."

She turned to Tash, eyes full of divine fire and a determination to prove her point.

"My brother, surely you did not rejoice in the deaths of so many? You who sever the life threads of all born to this empire must see how their ends were not ones of honor. I know war and slaughter are your realm, without them you would have little strength, but even you must see how pointless their deaths were?"

"Aye sister what you say is true. Yet their deaths have lent me power, and it is my right to walk every battlefield.

And there is another part of this tale which you do not yet know. This night the king of Charn called on the power of the secret word to aid him in conquering his enemies."

Both sisters moved closer, eager for more details.

"Did he succeed?" Azaroth's voice was sharp with anxiety and the slightest trace of fear.

"Nay my sister. You of all of us would have known the instant the speaker was chosen.

No, this ruler sought the word only because he desires power and a place of honor in the histories of his people. That's why he performed such a daring sacrifice. But the word is stronger because of it, and I am sure that soon someone will come who will be able to wield its power."

"Sister, I know you always regret the taking of a life, especially if it is done in anger. Nor would I expect anything else from you, for you were appointed a goddess of life long before this world dawned

By your will and knowledge are the destinies of Charn's people formed. You are also more powerful than I, command the elements and always seek the gift of knowledge.

But surely you can see that even these deaths were meant to be, that they herald the birth of the chosen speaker."

Azaroth could only nod in reluctant acceptance of her sister's words.

She had always been close to Zardeenah, though they oversaw different aspects of mortal existence, and were in many ways what dark is to light.

Zardeenah, mysterious, passionate and dangerous, watched over the lives of mortals, stirred within their soul's passions both light and dark.

Azaroth's influence was subtler, felt often in the places of the mind where logic and intellect ruled. To her was given the task of guarding the laws based upon honor, justice, and the safeguarding of a kingdom.

It was Azaroth who calmed her sister's fiery temper with gentle words and the cooling influence of logic when the dark goddess was about to act rashly. There were times when the sisters would argue and their formidable wills would clash over a specific mortal.

Marcus for example.

Azaroth had claimed him as hers, because of the commander's devotion to honor and his desire to see justice restored to his people.

Zardeenah had argued that she had a stronger claim, because it was she who had woven his destiny with Sara's from the cradle.

Such was her task as the weaver of all life threads.

In the end both had played significant roles in the lives of the mortal couple, and despite the power Marcus's brave death lent her essence, Zardeenah deeply regretted that the commander's thread had to be severed.

She had heard his prayer for Sara, felt is desperation that she would somehow be kept safe from the king's madness.

And she intended to honor that prayer.

Nor had she ignored his hope that his death and the slaughter of his friends would not go unpunished.

Yes she would take vengeance on this king as Marcus had requested, perhaps enlist the aid of Azaroth if she would consent to help.

For Zardeenah had stood at Marcus's side as he was cut down by Charn's queen, felt the woman's dark joy in her first kill and utter lack of remorse.

This queen was more inclined to the ways of her brother, and so she had decided when Marcus asked for vengeance that the king would suffer her wroth.

So many possibilities. Zardeenah considered and disregarded a few before deciding on her course of action.

One of her strengths was the realm of dreams, a place she reigned over with all the power of a queen ruling her kingdom.

Azaroth could also walk that realm with ease, indeed had a stronger influence there because of her command of all elements.

Between them, they could make sure that Charn's ruler would feel his regret and guilt a thousand times over for his part in this night's events.

Sensing Zardeenah's thoughts Azaroth nodded eagerly, before beginning to plan her own punishment for the royal couple.

Zardeenah's revenge was fitting, but she wanted something different, which would let these monarchs know how deeply they had offended the most powerful goddess of Charn.

Moments later she had her answer.

A cold smile played about Azaroth's lips, as she imagined the reactions of Charn's king and queen to the punishment she had chosen.

Long had they begged her for a daughter gifted with strong magic, so that their family might be remembered as one blessed by the gods for many ages hence.

Before this deliberate breaking of the law of courtesy she had intended to grant their petition.

Until now.

Gathering her power she turned in the direction of the palace, eyes alight with divine fire and the sure promise of vengeance.

"Let all in the immortal realm, and those who have broken the most sacred law of Charn hear my judgment against her king and queen.

No more will I hear your requests and give you my favor.

Not even if you offer me countless sacrifices, or ask priests to seek my aid on your behalf will I hear your petitions.

And you monarch of Charn, because you have dared to break the most sacred law which I gave to your ancestors, corrupted its purpose by slaughter of those who came in peace, hear now my judgment.

You slew each lord while feasting, placing poison in the drink you offered to renew your pledge of false friendship. No more will your royal table be laden with the bounty of the harvest, nor will your slaves who tend your vineyards find plentiful fruit on the vine.

And you queen of Charn, slayer of him who fought for honor, you will never bare the daughter you have begged me for since your marriage. Look not to another chosen woman to fulfill your desire, for she also will not bring forth the baby you have always longed to conceive.

For your deliberate breaking of a law sacred to me, and the slaughter of those who came to your door in peace I pronounce this sentence. Let it rule your lives until the moment my brother severs your threads."

She immediately felt her power acknowledge the oath and judgments she had made, and was glad that a mortal she had long respected would receive justice.

Tash alone had taken true joy in the killings, for it was he who severed every thread of life, lived only for the moment when each mortal life would end.

As was his right he walked the fields of battle, drawing strength from the darkness and violence of war.

Azaroth often thought that his task was destined to become even darker, if all she glimpsed of Charn's future were truly to come to pass.

But for now she must set such thoughts aside, for there were more important matters which required her attention.

She returned to the task of watering the tree which grew at the center of their realm.

Formed at the birth of Charn, it represented the destiny of the empire, and could only be cared for by an immortal who commanded the four elements.

So this task had naturally fallen to Azaroth.

With the ease born of long practice, she poured the water from her pitcher until the roots and earth surrounding the tree were saturated.

Sorrow filled the goddess as she reached out to feel the faltering strength of the ancient tree.

Her power was waning. For as the magic of this world had ordained, she like her divine brethren was a reflection of the realms she commanded.

Little flourished in Charn now. She could not remember the last time true life in all its glory had taken root in that great empire.

Nor could she clearly recall the last ruler who had offered her untainted sacrifices, or upheld the laws she had given to the first monarchs.

Such memories were quickly crushed under the weight of cruelty and malice which now cloaked all of Charn.

Little remained that answered to her power accept the great river, and even that would have ceased to flow had It not been for the determination and power of Achelous.

A smile briefly illuminated Azaroth's pale features, as her thoughts turned to the only being which now brought her joy.

Her beloved consort, he who oversaw the great river of Charn and kept guard over its sacred waters.

It was from them she drew the water that sustained the tree of Charn's destiny.

Of all her kin she alone had married, drawn to the river god Achelous because of his courage and strength.

Besides Zardeenah he alone truly understood her, and over the centuries their love had grown and deepened into a passionate devotion few immortals ever were fortunate enough to know.

As she carefully inspected the roots of the ancient tree, Azaroth shuddered at the revelation Tash had just given.

She could only hope none in Charn ever gave voice to that horrific word, meant only for an immortal tongue to form.

Even then the rules governing its speaking were many, and few ever used it accept when the need was dire.

This king had discovered the way to unlock its power, through the murder of those who valued honor, justice, and freedom.

For the thousandth time Azaroth cursed the day a mortal sorcerer had discovered the knowledge of that word, twisting the rules governing its speaking until one like him could wield its power.

Zardeenah had been impressed with that sorcerer's power and knowledge of the dark, and the skill it took to alter the conditions which a mortal speaker must possess.

Only a mortal who had forsaken all humanity, and possessed a talent for sorcery could hope to speak it correctly.

And when that time came, Azaroth knew that her power and Zardeenah's would both be quenched.

Only Tash would stand strong against the word's influence, for he embodied the implacable force of death and corruption.

But for now she was content, secure in the love of her consort and the support of her sister Zardeenah.

But as she sent her power forth to strengthen the roots of the tree, the thought formed before she could prevent it.

For how long will this fragile peace last?

Azaroth's musings were abruptly cut short as Tash turned to address his sisters, a mixture of fury and puzzlement on his cruel features.

"The odd thing is that Marcus didn't come to my realm."

"That's impossible," Zardeenah scoffed. "All in Charn pass into your keeping as soon as you sever their thread. You must be mistakened".

"Perhaps another deity received him instead, after all not all the world's dead come to you my brother."

Tash glared at Azaroth, unwilling to admit that she was right.

For her words forced him to admit a truth he had long sought to avoid and forget.

The truth which a noble lady of Charn had just unfolded for a friend to ponder.

Marcus's assessment had been correct. There was indeed a creator who ruled all worlds, one which many gods chose to ignore unless forced to acknowledge his lordship.

This was not the first mortal he had lost to this mysterious being. Over the centuries of Charn's long and bloody history, there had always been those who recognized the power of the creator, and thus were placed beyond his reach after he had severed their threads.

Tash was not surprised that the maker of all worlds had taken an interest in Marcus, but he was also furious that yet another of Charn's citizens had been denied him. Often he had sought a way to suppress knowledge of this creator, and yet always there were those who learned of his existence.

As a god who reveled in war, Tash had longed for countless centuries for confrontation.

And yet he hesitated. He might be a powerful god, but even he dared not challenge the creator.

At least not yet.

These were thoughts he kept to himself, for now he was content with his role in Charn's destiny. But he hoped that the time would come when he had no need to conceal his lust for all that was dark about every creature of all worlds.

Zardeenah suspected his secret desire. How could she not, for like him she was ever drawn to the dark by its irresistible siren call.

. But the darkness she reveled in was that of fury roused or the passions of mortals being fulfilled.

She also drew strength from the bright flames of mortal lives, weaving the threads of joy with sorrow, or honor with betrayal.

It was work she loved, gave her existence purpose and kept her from venturing down the darker paths which were his right to command.

And still he long for a nation which would regard him as the greatest of gods, where his name would be spoken in both fear and respect.

He could not know that soon his wish would come to pass, that through the power of the secret word he would become something darker and more twisted than he could imagine. That by welcoming into his already dark soul the essence of that word, he would forever alter the course of many nations' destinies.

_Next, the birth of Jadis is attended by Azaroth and Zardeenah, who begin to fear for Charn's destiny and how it will affect them._


	5. Chapter 5 The Chosen Speaker

To an immortal the flow of time is meaningless, for all of eternity is theirs to enjoy.

Yet in the years following the death of Marcus's killers, Azaroth often felt that her existence had slowed to a crawl.

Following the death of the king and queen she had judged, Charn fell even further into darkness and corruption.

In vain did she strengthen the tree of destiny, for she had little power left to sustain it. Had it not been for the help of Achelous it would never have lived.

Zardeenah watched in growing concern as her sister's power waned. Carefully she wove threads of her own power into Azaroth's low reserves, with such skill that her sister never suspected her intervention.

She also accepted sacrifices from the people, a part of her glorying in their tendency to choose the bloodiest of rituals to honor her name.

Yet she also longed for worshipers who would look on her not just as a goddess of dark rites, but one who reveled in the passions of men.

Only Tash flourished in those dark years, rejoicing in the many wars Charn waged against her enemies and the people's predilection for cruelty and sadistic acts.

Achelous kept watch over the great river at the center of the city, knowing that its life giving waters were one of Charn's greatest resources. He too witnessed things in those dark years which he would never forget, and more than once Zardeenah caught a note of wistful longing in his voice whenever he spoke of Charn's early years.

At those times Azaroth did what she could to encourage her consort. But in secret she acknowledged a truth spoken to her by the elements, one which she suspected her brethren already knew.

Charn was slowly dying. And nothing she or her kin could do would stop destiny from taking its course.

So she waited ever vigilant, waited for the coming of the chosen speaker, whose birth would signal that Charn's final years had come.

She knew the moment the queen's pains began, in that inexplicable way known only to a goddess who spun the threads of destinies.

Zardeenah would sense it too, for the child would be given into her keeping as soon as Azaroth had gifted the thread with her strength.

Over Charn the skies were dark with the promise of a storm, already rain was beginning to fall as Azaroth entered the queen's chamber invisible to mortal eyes.

The sound of thunder and rain mingled with the piercing cries of the queen and the gentle encouragement of the midwife.

Azaroth had seen many births, and knew that the queen had many hours of work ahead before she could bring her firstborn child into the world.

With concern the goddess watched as the young queen grew more distressed, and the sheets beneath her frail body became a bloody and tangled mess.

It was rare that Azaroth ever intervened directly in a task which was meant for a mortal mother alone, but she sensed that this birth was necessary for Charn to follow the path of destiny.

So she approached the bed and bent over the exhausted woman. Mortal eyes would glimpse no change, for Azaroth was skilled in concealing her presence from even immortals when she did not wish her power to be seen.

Slender fingers rested for an instant on the queen's brow, and power rich and born of all elements answered to its mistress's command to lend this mortal strength.

The midwife once again gave the order for her lady to push, and the young woman found to her relief that she had enough strength to comply.

Another brilliant flash of lightning lit the queen's pale and drawn face, and Azaroth couldn't help thinking that the weather was certainly reflecting the struggle within the royal chamber on this stormy night.

"Appropriate." The comment resembled her thoughts so closely that at first Azaroth didn't turn to see who had spoken.

"Zardeenah? What brings you here? Normally you wait until I return before I tell you what I've seen so you might begin your work."

"There's something dark about this birth Azaroth. Don't ask me how I know, but I'm sure this little one's birth means trouble for the kingdom. Have you read her destiny yet?"

"No I was waiting until she was born. That's the way I usually precede."

"But you don't need to see the child to discern the course of its destiny."

"No, I can easily look my fill at what the future holds for her. You want me to do it now"?

"Yes."

Calling her power forth Azaroth cast her mind outward, searching for the bright spark of the child's soul to guide her in this task. She found it immediately, clear and strong as a candle flame just born, and at that very moment the queen made one final desperate effort.

Beside her Zardeenah stood ever vigilant, as the cord was cut and the child cleaned and handed to the queen.

Intent on her work, Azaroth reached out, immortal fingers gently grasping the ephemeral life thread she alone could strengthen and surrender into her sister's keeping after determining the baby's destiny.

She saw the child being presented to the court, and then the people of Charn, held up proudly in the strong arms of her father.

The young queen singing softly to the baby in the hope that she might surrender to the gentle embrace of sleep.

And there was more to come. Azaroth smiled as she saw that this child would possess a talent for controlling the element of water.

Yet the goddess was disturbed as she saw the little girl's love of winter, when earth and water froze and trees had only snow to adorn their branches.

Yes there was beauty in that season, but there was also the real threat of death due to cold or lack of food.

It was this aspect of winter which the goddess knew the child would grow to love, along with the frozen perfection of that season where earth and water slept.

Deeper still was the possibility that she would use dark magic to alter nature's course, for water earth and forest could easily be molded to the will of one gifted in the darker magics during the cold winter months.

Nameless fears soon turned to horror as she looked deeper into the future of this mortal princess.

Darkness was woven with this one's destiny in a way she had never seen before. Not even the king who had murdered so many noble lords had been overshadowed by darkness as was this descendent of his line.

She watched as the princess led her warriors in many bloody battles, reveling in the brutal slaughter and conquest of her enemies.

This child would live for the dark joy she took in battle and the torture of the innocent.

But worst of all was the final vision. Azaroth watched as the princess confronted her sister on the palace steps, triumphant and confident that her army would be victorious.

And then she spoke a word Azaroth had never thought to hear, the one which years ago had driven a king to kill many lords in the hope that he would be given the honor to speak it.

Shaken the goddess withdrew her power, unwilling to hear even the future echo of that horrific word.

"Was I right?" Zardeenah's questions were forgotten as she glimpsed the look in her sister's eyes.

Together they had witnessed many atrocities over the centuries, but none had ever caused Azaroth to look so weak and afraid.

Azaroth couldn't find the strength to answer; it was only Zardeenah's hand which steadied her as all strength was sapped from her body by the memory of that word.

Pale and trembling, Azaroth permitted her sister to help her on the path to their realm. Only when Zardeenah gently placed her sister's fingers against the slender trunk of the tree of destiny did she feel a trickle of her divine strength return.

Thankful that her sister understood, she let the reassuring flow of the life of Charn calm her essence.

"Rest a moment. I will return shortly." Zardeenah's voice was firm and her dark eyes held the quiet understanding of the torment her sister had endured.

"Thank you." Azaroth's voice was a shadow of its usual strength, as Zardeenah reappeared a few minutes later holding a goblet.

"Water from the river. Achelous fetched it and asks that you return as soon as you can."

Taking a large mouthful of water Azaroth offered her sister a grateful smile.

"I'm all right now. Thank goodness you know me so well sister; I've never had such an experience at a birth before."

"Her thread is strong, one of the strongest I've seen in centuries. And though she is marked by darkness I'm surprised you reacted so strongly to its presence. It didn't affect me so deeply."

"You know darkness, though you do not love it as much as our brother. I might be powerful, but I was never meant to carry the weight of that knowledge.

You are different sister. You know and love the darker passions, yet you choose to revel in them only by what you receive when they are awakened, or intellectual curiosity drives you to seek. I wonder, am I the weaker goddess?"

"No, you are far stronger in other areas than I. Of us all you alone command all elements and can discern the patterns of the future with accuracy. That is not weakness. No what you felt I expect was so opposite to your nature that it shocked you. What was it?"

The echo of the secret word. Zardeenah she is the one. Jadis is the chosen speaker."

Zardeenah was silent as she considered her sister's words.

"Azaroth it had to happen eventually. I know you sense it too, Charn is destined for destruction by that word, it's a pattern I must weave regardless of what I wish could be.

Look at the tree; it too knows death is close. Frankly I'm glad Charn will soon fall. I'm more than ready to rule the destiny of another nation."

Azaroth could only nod in reluctant acceptance of her sister's words, before she left to seek her consort.

Achelous rose up from the water at her approach. Never before had the sight of his tall form crowned with reeds been so welcome, as she ran forward eager to join him.

He held Azaroth tenderly, mindful of Zardeenah's visit and the support his consort needed. Gratefully she accepted his comfort and the gift of his passion, as he drew her down with him into the deep embrace of water to the grotto which was their home.

Achelous waited until Azaroth had recovered all her strength before asking for an explanation. And she told him of all that had happened, of her visions and Zardeenah's thoughts.

Her recitation didn't receive the response she had expected, for Achelous had also been aware that Charn stood on the brink of destruction.

"You sensed it too?"

"Not everything you described. Only that this princess will be strong and command water easily. And based on what you just told me I'm not looking forward to the day she learns to master her gift.

And there's the fact that she's the chosen speaker. What will become of us when she gives voice to destruction?"

Azaroth stared at her husband in horror. "I never thought of that! The word is made to destroy all life accept its speaker. So logically we would be included too. Only my brother and sister would possess the strength to survive."

"Perhaps if you speak to Zardeenah she could think of a way to help."

They talked long into the night, drawing strength and comfort from the other's presence as they lay together cradled within water's embrace.

Still Azaroth could not rest, and at last she left the warmth of her consort's embrace and the security of the riverbed, to seek the surface and draw comfort from the elements it was her right to command.

Sorrow filled the goddess as she gazed out over the city. For so long she had sustained the magic and destiny of this empire, only to see all her hopes for Charn destroyed as she turned to the ways of death.

With the last of her strength she reached deep into the core of the earth, seeking out even the smallest particle of uncorrupted soil. Deeper still she sought, calling out to each of the four elements in the hope that something of Charn's ancient glory still remained to be nurtured and strengthened.

And what she felt made her want to weep. For every element was filled with a sense of approaching death, and they cried out to their goddess in distress begging for her aid.

But she had nothing left to give, and so she lifted up her voice in a cry of mourning as she joined with nature in its lament.

"Yes Charn, weep for your people, for soon you will all fall at the command of this little princess. And not only you, but your gods will taste death on that day. Your destiny will be ended by destruction's voice and all life will be consumed by its hunger.

And then what will become of us, the gods who have watched over your destiny from the first moments of this empire's birth?

Will we also be snuffed out at the command of the chosen speaker, or be given the task of watching over another fledgling nation?

I hope so, for I long to once again receive untainted sacrifices, and the honors mortals once bestowed upon my statues at my temples.

Ah Charn you were once such a strong and glorious empire, with monarchs who ruled with justice and wisdom. Ever were your gates open to the friendless, and your reverence for the law of courtesy was talked of by many nations.

Never did I ever think I would wish this, but I hope that your end will come quickly. For little remains of what you once were as you surrender to the ways of my brother, and excite my sister with the offering of dark sacrifices.

But this I vow. I will not forget you Charn, once so proud and beautiful. I will keep within me the knowledge of your moments of glory and conquest, sorrow and darkness, that your legacy might endure after the secret word is spoken.

For if I do not, who will remember you? Who will know that you were not always an empire who reveled in destruction?"

Azaroth was so deep in her communion with the elements that she didn't sense her sister's approach until Zardeenah spoke.

Her words were full of power, deeper than the voice of the river, and as rich and strong as the earth Azaroth loved.

"I will sister. When Charn's hour comes at last, I will be at your side to lend you aid. I will also treasure the history of this empire, and its moments of glory and darkness.

This I swear upon the tree you have guarded. You will not be alone. And when Charn's destiny is fulfilled, I will follow you to whatever fate awaits us, as I did long ago when we were called to watch over this nation."

Azaroth could not speak, so moved was she by her sister's passionate declaration. So she reached out to her sister, as she had done so often in past centuries when in need of comfort, and was immediately drawn close into the strong embrace of the dark goddess.

Zardeenah held Azaroth close, knowing that if ever she was in need of strength that Azaroth would always be there to offer reassurance.

Power both dark and light surrounded them as they clung to each other, as the music of life's joys and sorrows was mixed with darker strains of wild passion and the knowledge of death.

So they stood together on the night of the speaker's birth, two immortal sisters joined in deep affection, and the desire to make sure that an empire's history would not be forgotten.

_Note from the authoress: I really enjoyed writing about Jadis's birth from this unusual perspective, and developing the relationship between Azaroth and Zardeenah._

_I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter and where you think the story could go. I've the story mapped out already, but it's always fun to receive intriguing observations from readers._

_This is a reposted chapter, as I felt I hadn't made some points clear when I wrote this section a while ago._

_So there are a few extra sentences scattered throughout this chapter for anyone who has read this before._

_Next, Jadis encounters Zardeenah at a winter celebration, and the goddess realizes the lengths that the young princess will go to in her quest for power and domination._

_Thanks for reading._


	6. Chapter 6 Snegurochka

Jadis watched indifferently as her maid finished arranging her dark hair, expertly securing the last two stray curls to her mistress's head with a jeweled comb.

Every year this festival came, and she was required to be there due to her status as firstborn daughter and heir to the throne of Charn. Aria always enjoyed these occasions more, basking in the empty words of flattery the court ladies lavished upon their youngest princess.

She was only 10, but Jadis already understood the intricacies of court intrigue and had nothing but contempt for the false words of praise the nobility gave her so freely.

Why her father insisted on continuing this ridiculous tradition was beyond her. In many ways this festival was meant to be a joyful celebration, where friends and family gathered to indulge in feasting and dancing.

The week of revelry helped to lift the people's spirits, to draw their focus to the season's beauty rather than the hardship it always brought, though only the poor of Charn knew that aspect of winter intimately.

The only thing Jadis ever enjoyed about this week of endless feasts and entertainments was the final ball.

For it was a masquerade. This year she had chosen her costume carefully, tired of the usual selections her maids offered for her consideration every year.

And unlike the other court ladies who chose to go as magical creatures or figures from Charn's history, she had selected a unique disguise.

The palace seamstresses had toiled over the dress for hours, and now as her maid brought the dress forward Jadis could not suppress a cry of delight and excitement.

It was made of white satin, embroidered with silver threads.

A delicate silver chain was fastened about her neck, from which hung a single crystal pendent shaped into the semblance of an icicle.

Carefully the maid presented a small bundle to her young mistress, knowing that the princess had been waiting for days to see how her orders would be carried out. A clever and imaginative child, Jadis had designed this herself, stressing that her instructions must be followed in exquisite detail.

With a flourish the servant drew back the silk wrappings, to reveal an exquisitely crafted diadem. It was made of silver shaped into the semblance of snowflakes, tastefully adorned with tiny crystals.

Carefully Jadis took it from her maid, and set it amidst her dark tresses with a contented smile.

For once her servants had done an admirable job, for the dress was exactly what she had envisioned when creating the design.

Casting one final glance at herself in the mirror, Jadis swept from the room. No longer was she a princess and heir to the throne of Charn, but a maiden born of winter who possessed the power to enchant all who looked upon her face.

The court musicians had already begun to play when the royal family entered the hall.

Aria soon became lost in the sea of dancers, but Jadis stood quietly waiting for someone to approach, gazing coolly about the crowded room with a haughty arrogance which many a courtier was surprised to see in such a young face.

Courtesy demanded that she remain for a few dances, and so she accepted empty compliments and a few delicacies before excusing herself on the pretext of needing some air.

The royal gardens were a splendid sight at all seasons of the year, but Jadis loved them best at the height of winter.

Heedless of the cold air she walked until she reached the snow covered statue of a sorceress grasping a wand of delicate crystal. This statue had always fascinated her, because the artist had captured the power, grace, and utter confidence of this ancient witch as she prepared to cast a spell.

An avid reader, Jadis had searched the palace library for references to this illusive woman, and discovered that she had been one of the ancient queens of her nation who had put an end to the untrained magicians who had sought to overthrow her with magic.

According to the accounts she had been able to decipher, the battle had been brief, and brutal, one in which swords and arrows proved ineffective against the dark magic the queen summoned to destroy her enemies.

That war had marked a significant turning point in Charn's history, for no longer did any magicians remain who learned magic solely from ancient texts or experimentation.

Indeed, many who practiced magic now looked upon these ancient wielders with contempt, because they did not possess the lineage or innate ability to perform the simplest of spells, but were forced to resort instead to books for much of their knowledge.

The worship of Zardeenah had flourished at that time, as many requested the goddess to bless their threads with the strength to perform magic.

Jadis had always scoffed at what she considered weakness. She respected the keepers of Charn's destiny, Zardeenah and Tash more than Azaroth because of their knowledge of darkness. And yet she was determined to never ask for magical help, excepting the most dire or extraordinary of circumstances.

For the young princess knew that deep within her rested the knowledge and ability to perform feats of magic. She reached out and briefly caressed the crystal wand in the statue's hand, reveling in the smooth texture and utter lack of warmth it possessed.

"Zardeenah, lady of the night and weaver of mortals' fates, I thank you for blessing my thread with the skill to perform the ancient magic of my ancestors."

Her words were spoken softly, and yet Zardeenah heard them with a mixture of astonishment and apprehension. Few were the times when a daughter of the royal house of Charn had ever bothered to thank her sincerely, and Jadis was the last person she would have thought to ever offer a prayer of thanksgiving.

Yet there was no doubt of the genuine emotion behind the words, and so Zardeenah determined to speak to the young princess and learn what was behind this unexpected offering of praise.

The goddess approached softly, drawn by the invocation of her name. Few remembered to honor her on this night, and it was unusual for a child to speak her name so reverently.

Taking the form of a richly dressed woman, the goddess emerged from the shadows and approached the young princess.

In the moonlight the young girl was a creature of winter, a maiden born of snow crowned with the bounty of her kingdom.

But Zardeenah knew the truth, for beneath that innocent façade was a young girl intent on courting darkness in its most destructive form.

"Good evening to you, snow maiden.  
Jadis turned surprised at the interruption. She immediately noted the poise and wealth of her companion, and performed a graceful curtsy.

"My lady. I hope you're enjoying the revelry?" Zardeenah suppressed a snort of laughter knowing that Jadis wasn't the least bit interested in her welfare, but had only spoken as a daughter of the royal house was expected to address a woman of obvious wealth. She noticed Jadis eyeing her dress of black velvet studded with diamonds and smiled to herself. She had deliberately chosen this disguise, knowing that the young princess would be drawn to such a dark and alluring figure. And she wanted to learn more of the one destined to speak the word of destruction.

"I see you've chosen one of our ancient stories to favor this night. What made you choose The Snow Maiden? Few girls your age would want to dress as her unless it was because they admired the legend's description of her beauty."

The scornful look Jadis gave the goddess was almost comical.

"I didn't pick the story because of that. I chose her because she's a creature of winter, and that's my favorite season of all."

Jadis's choice of costume intrigued the goddess, for the legend of The Snow Maiden was popular among the children of Charn. It was the usual story of tragic love mixed with powerful magic, the tale of a creature born of winter who desires a mortal heart so that she might remain with her beloved and offer him the gift of her passion.

But it was the thing which the maiden craved most which led to her ultimate destruction, breaking the grip of a fifteen year winter and bringing spring to the land once again.

A passing observer would immediately recognize the character the young princess represented, and smile at her fascination with the fairy tale.

But Zardeenah thought differently. As a goddess the hearts of men were open for her to read, and she knew that Jadis had chosen this disguise for very different reasons than a casual observer might suppose. It was not the power of the maiden's sacrifice, or her desire for mortal love which drew Charn's eldest princess to this ancient story.

No it was the deeper meaning of the tale which she loved, that a maiden formed of snow and magic walked amongst mortals and received their adulation. That her existence ensured a winter which would never end until her destruction and the coming of spring.

Zardeenah had to admire Jadis's creativity, how she hid her secret desires beneath this facade of innocence so cleverly that only an immortal could divine her true purpose.

Now was her chance to test this mortal child, to see if the word had yet taken hold.

"Ah but little maiden, it also brings death, famine and starvation to those not blessed with riches, provisions and health."

Jadis shrugged indifferently.

"I wonder what it would be like if winter was eternal?

Wouldn't it be wonderful?"

"An interesting thought. What makes you desire endless winter so much?"

"I love the stillness, how everything remains frozen and beautiful. And the silence, all creatures and people remain in their proper places. Such order, such delicate frozen perfection.." Her voice trailed away into silence, and Zardeenah knew that she was imagining a world where what she had described was reality.

But beneath that clear little voice the goddess sensed darkness beginning to stir as the secret word conjured images of this child's darkest desires in the mind of its chosen speaker.

It's already begun, Zardeenah thought with a mixture of sadness and relief. Azaroth was right, never before have I seen one so young succumb to darkness so willingly. If she were not wholly given to the ways of my brother I'd be tempted to claim her as my high priestess.

For a moment the goddess imagined that possibility, where she could mold that love of darkness to her own will, turn it from seeing only the intrigue of death and the bloody glories of war, to a subtler appreciation of what it offered a willing listener.

Unlike Tash, Zardeenah's interests lay in exploiting the darkness within each soul, revealing to mortal and immortal creatures alike the paths it offered. And yet she also guided the destinies of those meant for lives where darkness was there but held in check by the individual's strength of will and the influence of those bound to that particular destiny.

And there is the difference between my brother and I, Zardeenah reflected. For he revels without remorse in the brutality and violence the dark brings, while I rejoice in its passions and strength.

She was about to question Jadis further, when a servant came hurrying up the path.

"Princess, your father requests that you return to the feast at once. He sent me to find you."

Reluctantly Jadis acquiesced, and at her father's insistence soon found a courtier to join her in the dance.

As he led her smoothly around the floor, he could not know that her thoughts were far away, pondering how she would win herself a crown and throne.

Zardeenah watched Jadis walk away, knowing that she could no longer delay the decision of whether she should act to protect herself and her sister from the coming storm.

Her mind was made up. She would learn all she could of this word that would doom all of Charn. If it meant opening herself to darkness in its purest form she would do it, for the sake of her own survival and that of her sister and Achelous. Of all her kin, she alone could do this, for Tash would inevitably be consumed by the word's seductive promises, and he would have no interest in saving any except himself.

That left her alone to discover a way, for next to Tash she was the one who could walk the dark paths with ease and return unscathed.

She would have to proceed with caution, shield herself with power not even this word could penetrate, for though she reveled in darkness, she did not want to become drawn into the possibilities the word would offer. Though the thought of that possibility excited her, still she knew that she must never walk that path. For if she became lost to the word's influence, then she and her kin would suffer.

It was ironic, that the fate of Charn and her gods rested in the hands of a mortal child.

Zardeenah had no gift of forseeing the future like Azaroth, and yet she sensed that the destiny of this girl was entwined with many others.

She felt the struggle within the young princess, where what remained of her innocence and warrior's soul fought against a power too great for any mortal to bear.

It had already begun to twist and warp her desires and love of beauty, and would continue to do so until nothing remained of the child she had just met.

Even that memory would be tainted, for she had felt the subtle dark tendrils of the word beneath Jadis's thoughts.

If as Zardeenah suspected the word consumed her utterly, who would remember what Jadis had once been?

Fresh snow began to fall, and soon blanketed the young princess's favorite statue.

Thoughtfully the goddess reached out to brush it free of snow, and knew in that moment what she would always call Jadis in the secret places of her mind. A word not yet known to worlds where magic existed, but one which would be spoken in a distant land where winter flourished and royalty would be revered as a living embodiment of God on earth.

She would call her Snegurochka.

_Note from the authoress: Thanks to those who have reviewed, I appreciate your support and encouragement for this story._

_The legend of The Snow Maiden is a Russian fairy tale which I thought would fit well with Jadis's fascination of winter._

_I used two versions for this chapter, one a play written by Aleksandr _Ostrovsky_, the other the opera composed by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov._

_The title of this chapter and Zardeenah's name for Jadis is the Russian name for The Snow Maiden._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter; the next one should be posted soon._

_Thanks for reading._


	7. Chapter 7 Voice of Destruction

Zardeenah began her quest immediately, knowing that only a few short years were left before Charn would fall.

Tash and Azaroth questioned her absences, and she answered their inquiries with the excuse that she was asking for more sacrifices.

For unlike her brother, who tended to overlook their youngest sister's predictions, Zardeenah intended to be prepared when the speaker displayed her power.

Even her worshipers underestimated her, believing that she was a goddess concerned only with her work as weaver of destiny, the stirring of passions and exploration of the darker urges of humanity.

And that was exactly what she wanted them to think. For beneath all those truths lay a mind as sharp as a newly crafted sword, one she intended to put to good use in discovering more of this ancient word of dark power.

So she watched as Jadis grew older, becoming a young woman bent on conquest and ruling regardless of who stood in her way.

She watched as Jadis easily mastered the sword, bow and many other weapons, and used her clever mind and knowledge of Charn's enemies to become a cunning strategist. Often did her father's generals come to her for advice when dealing with an enemy, and her suggestions always ensured a quick but bloody victory.

Seven years after that conversation in the palace garden, the old king took to his bed, his body consumed with a dangerous fever.

Many in Charn suspected the truth, that Jadis had poisoned her father in order to take his place as queen, but none dared speak of their suspicions. They remembered all too well the stories of long ago, when soldiers had thronged the streets, carrying on litters the corpses of those nobles foolish enough to rise up against their monarchs, and had no wish to share their fates.

And yet as soon as she was declared queen, many who opposed Jadis's rule were swiftly and cruelly put to death.

Zardeenah watched Jadis's increasing propensity for bloodshed and brutal torture consume what was left of that bright soul she had met on that long ago winters night.

She stood concealed from mortal eyes at the princess's side, as she sentenced those who had offended her to executions, always following the threads of darkness back to the thing that Jadis had been destined from birth to speak.

It was no easy task; for Zardeenah had to take great care that the word did not suspect her curiosity. Nor was she untouched by its darkness, for it was the purest form of destructive magic she had ever encountered, and it took all of her considerable strength to keep from reveling in the promises of power and glory it sang to its chosen wielder.

Only the thought of her sister, and Achelous was her strongest defense, and the knowledge of what would become of them and herself if this word destroyed them.

She watched as Jadis and her sister fought for the right to rule Charn, each convinced that she was in the right. She saw the empire torn apart by civil war, and the final battle, where countless soldiers were slain and Jadis confronted her sister on the palace steps.

The quiet declaration of the youngest, proclaiming victory, and the chilling knowing laugh of Jadis, as she smiled at her rival in mocking triumph.

And then she spoke.

Before the first syllable was formed, Zardeenah felt the word rejoice, its dark twisted hunger surrounding the young princess like the fiercest of tempests.

She had no fear for her brother, for him this was a time when he was in his element, destruction being his meat and drink.

Nor was she indifferent to its power, for the word recognized a lover of the dark and spoke to her in a voice more alluring than the call of the sirens.

"Come daughter of the night. Come and join with me taste the glories of death afresh, and let your dark passions be awakened and satisfied."

For a moment Zardeenah wavered, recognizing the truth of the words, tempted by the endless possibilities such power would grant.

But her sister and Achelous, she must help them.

"Stay calm," Zardeenah instructed as they looked to her for direction.

They obeyed at once, as the goddess of the night reached out to draw strength and support from her kin.

"Whatever happens, do not let go." Zardeenah's voice was taut with anxiety, but still she reinforced her words with a look of stern command.

And she began to slowly, carefully merge their power with her own, surrounding them with power drawn from the darkest part of her essence. She called to mind every horrific sacrifice made in an attempt to placate her, every twisted destiny she had ever helped to weave and formed them into a shield of darkness. Every kill made in her name, whether in battle or upon her altars was recalled in that moment, in the hope that the word would overlook the sense of old and lingering deaths in favor of the wealth of living things it could feast upon at its leisure.

This was a dangerous path to walk, for the word was pure destruction and could easily turn on one who had rejected its power knowing what had been offered.

It was this step of her plan which Zardeenah had agonized over, for she knew all too well the price anything forged of darkness demanded of any who tasted its strength.

Yet she had reasoned that as the word was made to destroy life, it would naturally turn to that task first before seeking out any who had been able to withstand its power. And by the time that happened, Azaroth and Achelous would be lending her their strength.

And for the first time in her existence, Zardeenah found herself calling out to the maker of worlds with the most sincere request she had ever made.

"Please, let us survive, for the sake of my sister who I treasure and that we might preserve the legacy of a nation. Do not let our essences be drawn into the darkness of this word, for unlike mortals we would be sentenced to an existence which would destroy my sister and her beloved. I – I would revel in it, but for their sake I turn from that path to ask for your aid in their names."

Tendrils of the word reached out, seeking more life to destroy.

But she was not called daughter of the night for nothing. Driven by fury and the need to protect she lashed out, driving the destructive power back and turning it towards more desirable prospects.

Fear was something which she had thought never to experience, but as Azaroth watched her sister's struggle and fought her own battle against destruction she knew what it was to be afraid.

Always even in the most desperate of situations she had been able to draw upon her power for help, possessed a confidence which she thought nothing could shake. But what she was witnessing now filled her with horror and fury that she could do nothing to save the innocent, or shut out the sense of approaching doom.

Desperately she clung to Zardeenah, trying to send her what strength she could. A futile task, for every time she reached out to draw strength from the tree of destiny she was met with nothing but the terrible awareness of approaching death.

And then, in one moment the tree fell. Such simple words, and yet they held a wealth of meaning for Azaroth who had strengthened and cared for that tree for untold centuries.

It was is if something within her very essence was brutally crushed and then severed, something too deep to even be given a name.

At her right Zardeenah cried out with shock and pain, knowing that the work of millennia was brutally unraveling before her eyes and she could do nothing to prevent it.

Their eyes met in mutual understanding, as the sisters fought to endure this together.

Afterwards they would each wonder who had suffered the most, for both of their tasks were inextricably linked with weaving and sustaining the very fabric of destiny.

In the end they were forced to lay aside useless speculations, and simply agree on their shared pain, for their experiences had been remarkably similar. A terrible rending of the soul, of power, and that integral part of essence wholly devoted to their divine purpose which brought them to the brink of exhaustion.

Was this death? That inevitable fate for all mortal creatures which every deity was glad to be spared from knowing.

The pain was not only mental, but physical, as the sisters were robbed of thought, breath and strength.

They felt every death, not just of the humans, but of animals, trees and crops.

Achelous's torment was to feel the voice of the river be forever silenced, along with every spring, stream and well which had ultimately led back to his life-giving strength.

Only one thread remained, as Zardeenah knew it must, for the word would never turn upon its chosen.

A spark of fury flared up within Azaroth, and she wished fervently that it might be so, that this ruthless and cunning queen might receive a taste of the suffering she had so callously inflicted on her people.

But such thoughts of vengeance were useless, and so she fanned the flames of her anger, using them to redouble her efforts to aid Zardeenah.

Amidst the storm she heard Zardeenah's voice calm and authoritative, though her strength was beginning to falter.

"Hold fast sister. I won't let you go."

In the midst of their struggle, the sister's eyes met in a look of shared trust and understanding.

"There must be some way I can help you."

"Call out to every element; they will answer to you even though this empire is ending."

Azaroth's first contact with them made her shudder, for each of the four elements was corrupted and therefore useless in aiding Zardeenah's efforts to bring them out of this nightmare.

So she looked deeper, to the core of the earth, attempting to draw power from something untouched by corruption.

It answered to her summons immediately, and skillfully she wove her power with that of her sister, lending their shield the strength it so desperately needed.

Achelous also called out, reaching farther than he had ever reached before, knowing that his existence and that of his beloved and her kin depended on his power.

The river he had tended for so many centuries was now dry and barren. So he looked further, calling out to the creatures of the ocean depths, requesting their aid for the sake of his beloved.

They answered with power he had not known since the birth of Charn, and he offered it to Zardeenah as she continued to pour her strength and determination into their task.

At last the word retreated, satisfied with the lives it had claimed and the destruction it had wrought.

Beside Jadis stood Tash, full of the dark glory of the word, and the deaths of all the innocent men and beasts of Charn.

He wore a look of utter contentment, and Zardeenah fought the urge to reprimand him for his callous indifference to the fate of his brethren.

Even if she had been able to summon the strength to be angry, she knew that it would have been useless to scold her brother. For death and destruction were what he lived for, what he embodied and saw always took root in every nation where he acted as severer of destinies.

How could she ask or expect him to be something he was never meant to be?

Her eyes met the exhausted gaze of Azaroth, and the weary expression on Achelous's countenance, and she knew that they also understood and shared in her thoughts.

Her attention was brought back to Jadis, as the young queen turned indifferently away from the destruction she had wrought to enter the palace.

Curious, they all followed, wondering what new horrors awaited them.

Jadis walked purposefully, eyes intent and steps firm through many splendid rooms and passages, until she came to the hall of images.

Swiftly she moved down the hall, until she came to an intricately carved chair of stone at the farthest end.

Seating herself she began to speak. Words of power, of ancient magic long forgotten which caused Zardeenah to give a gasp of astonishment.

Where the goddess wondered did she learn that spell? She had thought that the knowledge of its creation had been lost centuries ago, and yet this headstrong queen had somehow unearthed the knowledge of how to cast it with frightening skill.

Once again Zardeenah found herself admiring this effortless command of magic, how each syllable was formed with utter confidence, and the power behind each word.

So they all watched as Jadis lay in quiet splendor, awaiting the curiosity of an adventurous stranger to awake her from her enforced sleep.

And hopefully that won't ever happen, Azaroth thought as she gazed upon the last queen of Charn.

What happened next was something she had never foreseen in all her years of watching over this now fallen world.

Swiftly and silently, she and her kin were inexorably drawn away from the empire they had ruled for so long. It was not the feeling of being severed from Charn which Azaroth recalled afterwards, but the look of deep serenity on her sister's face as they were called back to the void from whence they came.

Silence. Glorious stillness where nothing existed save for the slow and deep song of power which governed this place.

Azaroth sensed Zardeenah's relief that their long struggle was over, and her consort's thankfulness that at last he could rest.

Gratefully she sat down at the edge of one of the pools, content to simply surrender herself to the temptation to let every sense be lulled into quietness and calm.

Oh how she reveled in this place, where silence reigned and the life of each tree was slow and deep. Here she could learn from their song, even as Zardeenah drew knowledge from the nameless magic which sustained this place where worlds were born.

Achelous's eyes were alight with a joy she had not seen in centuries, as he gazed at the many pools which dotted this silent wood.

"What are they?" Azaroth looked at them in puzzlement. "I remember seeing them before, when we were here awaiting the summons to Charn. But I never thought to find out what they were."

Achelous bent over one of the pools, and caughtiously looked deep into the water before touching it.

"They are doors between this place and many other worlds. This water is like Charn's river, the source of each world's life. I expect that each of these places has something like your tree of destiny Azaroth."

Tash alone would hate this time of forced exile from death, and yet he would endure, for he had received much power from the word which had destroyed all life in Charn except for Jadis.

Zardeenah let her senses drift, searching past the magic of this place for the fragile connection she still felt to Charn's queen. For until that life ended, she and her kin were still bound to her destiny for she would always be a daughter of Charn.

Until someone came to release Jadis from her enforced sleep, they would wait. And at present Zardeenah could see little hope of that possibility ever coming to pass.

_Note from the authoress: So now I've set the stage for the rest of this story to unfold._

_It will span events from all seven Chronicles, as well as the question of how these gods end up ruling Calormene._

_Inspiration for the descriptions of Azaroth, Zardeenah and Achelous's power is drawn from Mercedes Lackey's awesome Elemental Masters series._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter and would welcome any comments._

_Thanks for _reading_. _


	8. Chapter 8 Shared Exile

How long they waited in that silent wood, captive to its soporific power, Azaroth could never afterwards recall. Perhaps it was years, or centuries, or the magic of that place affected even the natural flow and rhythms of time.

But at last there came a moment, when the stillness was broken by movement in one of the many pools which this realm possessed.

Curious, they all shook off lethargy and bent over the water to see what or who would emerge. And what came up out of the pool was the last thing they expected. A small furry animal, who immediately began to investigate its surroundings with evident curiosity.

Tash dismissed it at once as unimportant, and slipped away to his usual corner of the wood where he preferred to await their next summons. But Azaroth, Zardeenah and Achelous approached it cautiously.

"What on earth is it?" Azaroth's voice was slightly hoarse from misuse as she held out a hand towards the animal in silent invitation.

"Goodness knows. I've never seen anything like it before, not even in the empires we ruled before Charn." Zardeenah answered her sister's inquiry as she examined the creature closely.

"Its not meant for water," Achelous commented softly, not wanting to alarm this new arrival. "I'm guessing that it's a land dweller that feeds on roots or leaves. It looks like some sort of rat to me."

"Well, whatever it is it seems friendly." Zardeenah smiled as the little creature turned in her direction, every muscle in its small body trembling. "Azaroth, you've the most skill in speaking to the earth and her creatures. Try talking to it and seeing where it comes from. See what you can do to calm it too."

Azaroth knelt down by her sister and addressed the small heap of fur softly.

"Hello little one. Will you tell me who you are, and how you came to be here? I promise you will be safe here, and if my consort is right about what you like to eat you will not go hungry as long as you choose to remain."

The animal turned its head towards the sound of this warm voice, and then in one single movement sprang into Azaroth's outstretched hands. It was then that the goddess noticed the tension within the small body, and the confused and frightened pattern of its thoughts.

"He's young," she informed Achelous and her sister. "Probably not more than a few days old. I'll have to be careful in how I speak to him; he's had a great shock and doesn't know if I'm friend or enemy." Carefully she reached out; projecting thoughts of safety, knowing that only spoken and mental reassurances would calm the small creature's fears.

Zardeenah moved to help her sister, but as soon as she drew near the animal gave a small squeak of fright and shrank back against Azaroth.

"Curse it," Zardeenah's voice held the slightest trace of anger. "it senses the darkness I carry and doesn't dare to approach me yet.

Azaroth, would you be able to learn his tale?"

"Just a moment sister, I must gain his trust first before he lets me see what he knows."

Ten of the slowest minutes in Zardeenah's existence passed before Azaroth turned to offer her a warm smile.

"He's willing to share his story, though he hasn't grasped much speech yet and can only speak in images. I may not be able to learn his whole tale, but I'm assuming you want me to try."

Receiving Zardeenah and Achelous's nods of affirmation Azaroth sat perfectly still, until at last she smiled in triumph and stroked the soft fur in thanks.

"Well, this is quite a tale. Achelous find my brother. He should hear this, it will definitely interest him."

Her consort nodded and went in search of Tash.

When at last they were all assembled Azaroth began her tale.

"According to the images I've seen, this animal was sent here from another world, one far younger than Charn, by a magician." A thoughtful silence greeted this pronouncement, broken at last by Tash as he glanced down at the small heap of fur.

"That's logically the only way that this creature could come here, though I wonder why this sorcerer chose such a young animal that couldn't possibly give him much information.

Unless he possesses the gift of speaking to animals, and the traces of magic I sense are far too weak to support that idea.

And Azaroth, did you notice that it's got something fastened about its middle?

Surely that's not a common mark of ownership; it must possess the magic which brought this animal here."

Zardeenah held out her hands for the creature and Azaroth reluctantly surrendered him, hoping that this time her sister had the sense to keep her power concealed from such a young mind. She needn't have worried, for Zardeenah had learned her lesson well, and was skilled in concealing her true nature from any she did not wish to know it, and so encountered no resistance as the animal rested calmly in her grasp.

"Yes, you're right my brother. It looks like gold, it's the same rich yellow. Shall I remove it so we can examine it further?"

Receiving their consent she carefully unfastened the ring, then held it up for them all to inspect.

"No it isn't gold. But it looks familiar and you can sense the magic it possesses very clearly." Achelous held out his hand for the ring. "Let me take a closer look."

He stared at the piece of jewelry for a few moments before turning to the others excitedly.

"Do you know what this is? It's a ring forged from the dust of an ancient world, one not as ancient as Charn. Perhaps the dust is the remains of sand from the main riverbed or source of water from that world. It's similar to what you used to care for the tree of destiny Azaroth, earth that reflects the lives and magic of a nation. Somehow this magician found a small portion of it and made it into a ring."

"You don't think," Azaroth began and then broke off her sentence as the full horror of her thought dawned.

Zardeenah shook her head emphatically. "Nay my sister. From what you said this magician seems amateur at best, and would never be able to discover the great secrets of that dust. I know many bards in Charn were acquainted with parts of the legend surrounding it, but you and I were always careful to keep the truth hidden from mortals. I expect this magician's world has similar stories and he used them as a basis for his magic."

"Thank goodness for that," Azaroth bent closer to inspect the ring. "That sort of power was never meant for a mortal to wield. I shudder to think what he could have done if he knew the full potential of that dust."

"But surely that knowledge was lost centuries ago," Tash bent closer to examine their curious find. "And any magician even one who learns only from books can easily make a ring like this one if he knows the correct spells of forging."

"Yes, and I expect that's what happened. According to our little friend here, his owner spent much time in experimenting and study. If you'll give me a moment I can learn more of this sorcerer if he will let me look deeper."

Azaroth focused on the young mind, and drew forth images of the man who had sent him to this place between realms.

With great care she separated that single image from the tangle of half formed thoughts, willing it to tell her its story, to surrender every scrap of arcane knowledge it possessed into her keeping.

She saw a tall man who did not possess the slightest trace of magic in his blood, leading her to assume that he was like those long dead magicians which a sorceress queen of Charn had casually slaughtered so long ago.

She listened as he spoke to himself of years of study, where he tried to learn all he could of magic and how to wield it successfully.

He spoke of a relative who had given him an important box, charging him with the duty of destroying it during her final hours of life.

It didn't surprise Azaroth in the least when he casually broke that promise, justifying his disloyalty by convincing himself that he was acting out of a desire to gain knowledge of realms his people considered mere legend.

She watched with great interest as he carefully opened the ancient wooden box, to discover nothing but dust.

So disappointed and astonished was his expression, that Azaroth laughed aloud drawing some odd looks from her companions.

Deeper still she looked, determined to discover how this fledgling magician had found the necessary magic to make the ring.

She saw endless nights of intense study, of reading many ancient texts and myths of many cultures, of the struggle to decipher and learn enough of long dead languages so that he could glean knowledge from long forgotten books.

As she watched, the goddess could not help but admire this man's determination and focus on his task. And yet she was apprehensive, wondering what led him to search so diligently for a way into worlds many of his people were convinced didn't exist.

Nothing but the desire for knowledge could drive this man to seek so long, an impression which was proven right as Azaroth glimpsed the raw hunger in the eyes of this mortal.

She sensed that he would sacrifice others so that he might gain knowledge without remorse, all for the sake of his need to possess information lost centuries ago.

She saw animals similar to the one she held dying cruel deaths so that this magician might reach his objective.

And then came the moment she had been waiting for, when the animal she now held was selected for this magician's experiments.

It had watched as others like him had died for this man's strange cause, and could do nothing as he was lifted from the cage and firmly held.

More than anything else she sensed the small creature's fear as the ring was tied about its middle, and everything familiar was swept away in one single moment of raw wild magic.

Faithfully she recounted all she had seen, and her recitation was greeted with a contemptuous laugh from Zardeenah.

"He's not a clever magician, to send a creature who can't speak. That would only work if he possesses the talent for speaking to animals, and that's highly unlikely considering what you've just told us." Zardeenah turned her attention to the many pools surrounding them. "He works magic without understanding the consequences of toying with it lightly. I expect he will send someone else soon, perhaps a servant who can return and tell him more."

"Not that there will be much to tell," Tash eyed the realm with impatience. "Unless someone finds their way to what remains of Charn and awakens Jadis, I see little hope of us leaving this place soon. It's infuriating to be bound to a mortal's destiny like this."

He broke off as the pool from which the creature had emerged began to bubble violently.

It was Achelous who heeded the water's voice and signaled for them to conceal their presence. It's a mortal child.

At once the clearing was empty as they veiled themselves from mortal sight.

With interest they watched as the girl surrendered to the power of this realm, only to be awoken by the arrival of her friend a few moments later.

They listened as the boy told his story, Azaroth smiling as her speculations about the mortal magician were confirmed in every detail.

Zardeenah grew furious as she heard how this man had casually sent his own kin and this young girl into what could have been mortal danger without the slightest trace of regret. Surely he could have chosen another, one who could defend himself from anything seeking to do him harm.

With amusement they watched as the children experimented with the power of the rings, before they selected a pool and disappeared into its depths.

Azaroth had been so focused on the children's recitation and their attempts to use the rings, that Zardeenah's excited cry made her jump in surprise.

"Sister, do you realize where they have gone? They've journeyed to Charn. Perhaps at last we will be free from this place."

Achelous eyed the pool leading to Charn speculatively. "We should follow them."

Zardeenah nodded and carefully set down the animal they now knew was called a Guinea pig. "Azaroth, will you come?"

Go if you wish sister. I'd rather remain here. There is nothing left in that world for me.

I'll see what more I can do for this small one here."

Zardeenah nodded, knowing that her sister would benefit more from a few quiet moments with the furry creature then in wasting power to return to the world which had brought her so much pain.

Damn the laws of deep magic. Zardeenah thought as she gathered her power. I'll be glad when Jadis's destiny will be fulfilled and we'll be free to seek another empire to rule.

Seeing her sister's expression Zardeenah lingered a moment to offer encouragement.

"It can't be long now sister. She is mortal and once the spell which keeps her asleep is broken she will once again be subject to the laws of time." I too am weary of this enforced exile, but at least we will not have long to wait."

Nodding in acceptance of her sister's words, Azaroth watched as Zardeenah made ready to return to Charn with her brethren, never suspecting that more than a century would pass before she and her kin would be free from watching over the young queen's destiny.

_Note from the authoress: How did you enjoy that twist? While reading through The Magician's Nephew, I found myself wondering about the guinea pig and its fate, so thought I'd have some fun by bringing him into the story._

_C S Lewis also doesn't give us many details on the dust Uncle Andrew used to make the rings, so I've come up with some ideas which will be explored in more detail as the story unfolds, so keep a lookout for more references to the power of those rings and their history._

_These are all the chapters I've had mapped out in detail so far, so updates will be slow for the next installment._

_I've more research to do before I can continue writing this and make the plot I've outlined into the story I envision._

_So if you find yourself waiting for a while on this story, check out my other Narnian tales._

_I hope you enjoyed the chapter and would as always welcome reviews._

Thanks_ for reading._


	9. Chapter 9 Death of A Nation

It was all around him.

Even after so many centuries, the scent of destruction and needless deaths was heavy in the air.

He had almost forgotten the sweet taste of darkness; of the many battlefields he had walked drawing strength from the countless warriors's slain by sword, ax, spear or arrow.

As always Zardeenah had been at his side, and yet she had not taken joy in the kills as much as he, simply drunk her fill and moved on to other desirable prospects.

That was something he had never been able to understand about his sister. Why when she knew darkness, she rejected, even knowingly turned from its deeper music in favor of things he could never abide.

Even now as she looked about the ruined streets, he glimpsed sadness in her dark eyes, and did not try to conceal his contempt for her sorrow.

Always it had been so, even before they had been called to watch over Charn, Zardeenah's fondness for mortals was yet another part of her which he looked upon with barely veiled disgust.

No longer were they close. Ever since she had sided with Azaroth and rejected the power which the deplorable word could offer, he had spoken little to his fellow goddess.

He considered her actions a betrayal of what she was meant to govern, and her determination to safeguard Azaroth and Achelous a weakness which crippled her strength and influence.

If Achelous and his sister could not summon the power to defend themselves from the word, or join him in giving aid to Jadis, then they did not deserve to survive.

It was as simple as that.

Now as he followed Zardeenah towards the ruined palace, he tasted once more the echoes of the word's presence.

Every stone remembered, and gladly surrendered its knowledge to the one who had for so long oversaw the severing of every destiny of Charn.

Even the air was unnaturally still; held unwilling captive to those final moments when what was left of the empire's life and magic was devoured by the word of power.

For so long he had remained in that dreadful place, where nothing happened and the song of life continued relentlessly on at a rhythm he had soon come to think of as painful.

Azaroth had reveled in that hateful music, and even Zardeenah who knew and gloried in darkness had not remained indifferent to its deep and stirring melodies.

Achelous of course had immediately fallen prey to the slow melody of creation, and the scattered glimpses of eternity the music offered to any who would listen.

Only he had remained indifferent, though it had cost him much of his strength. He had withdrawn from his brethren, clinging desperately to the memories of Charn's final hours and the sweet darkness which the deplorable word had unfurled for his enjoyment.

Even now, after so many centuries, its presence still lingered, and he drank of it, savoring every drop as a king would enjoy the finest of wines.

So absorbed was Tash in his thoughts, that he nearly forgot to follow the children as they made their way through the ruined streets of Charn towards the palace.

With amusement he watched as they paused to admire the faded magnificence of the courtyard and its fountain, and speculated about the wealth and station of the people who had once lived in this grand city.

Eagerly they mounted the ancient steps, where centuries ago he had stood at Jadis's side, whispering encouragement and suggestions as she began to speak the word of destruction.

With joy he had listened as she articulated the syllables thought incapable for a mortal tongue to form, and the word's power had at last been released.

Truly it had chosen a worthy speaker, for it took only a moment for Charn to be stripped of all life.

Such a tiny space of time, and yet it had held the strength to destroy an empire.

With cool indifference he had watched Zardeenah's efforts to sustain her essence and the support of her sister and Achelous, knowing that if they did not find the strength to resist and conquer the word then they would share the fate of Charn's people.

To his astonishment they had survived, and like him been called back to the void from whence they came.

With an effort, Tash forced himself to focus on these mortal children as they explored the rooms of the palace.

It was only when they came to the hall of images that his interest was fully aroused. For long ago he had helped the last ruler of Charn craft an ancient spell which would make her like one of the many statues which adorned the room.

She would remain in that state, needing neither fire nor nourishment to sustain her, until a wanderer appeared and awoke her from her long slumber.

The spell had been very specific about that requirement, prompting both him and Jadis to wonder at its peculiar wording.

Why a wanderer?

What was the significance of that term?

Did it mean that whoever this person was, he must be a bold adventurer, or perhaps a mortal who had become lost and was seeking the quickest route back to his homeland?

Perhaps the spell required not a man or mortal at all, for it did not say whether the one destined to break it would be of mortal blood.

In the end they had simply bent their considerable wills and intellects to making sure that every aspect of the ritual was carried out, and Tash was now feeling privileged that he was at last going to witness the fulfillment of his hard work.

A brief smile of satisfaction softened his hawk like features, for even Zardeenah with all her knowledge of magic had never thought to look for his influence in shaping Jadis's love of the arcane. Nor had she ever thought him capable of unearthing, much less performing such a dark rite, as she assumed that she alone knew of the ritual and what it required.

Soon sister, he thought as the boy approached Jadis's serene image, soon you will see my power my true worth.

The spell was a subtle one, meant to gradually fill the mind of the chosen victim with curiosity, to slowly seduce every sense, lulling them into a state where ideas could easily be suggested to a mind prepared to receive them.

And the mind of this mortal child was more than ready to be influenced, accustomed as it was to knowing and loving tales of wonder and magic, of times when gods and heroes walked the earth and interacted with mortals.

With joy Tash watched as the boy ignored his friend's entreaties, and driven by the need to know and the memories of a thousand tales of heroes and their courageous deeds lifted the hammer to strike the innocent looking golden bell.

He saw the quick flash of comprehension in his dark sister's face, followed closely by shock and then bitter resignation that fate would not yet allow them to lay this young queen's destiny quietly to rest.

In that knowledge he reveled, for there was always a part of his essence which gloried in a mind so receptive to the voice of destruction.

And so he watched as Jadis awoke and effortlessly captivated the boy's young heart with her beauty and power.

At his side Zardeenah and Achelous watched in silence, recognizing that it was his right to approve and draw strength from the spell he had helped to forge.

It was hard for Zardeenah to hold her tongue, for she remembered and felt all about her the echoes of cruel and unnecessary deaths, of the casual destruction of every delicate thread she had so carefully woven in to the tapestry of Charn's destiny.

Now all that remained was silent crumbling ruins, and the light of a dying sun to illuminate a once great empire.

Even that was fading, and the moment it completed its final journey and set forever Charn would cease to exist.

It was those thoughts which filled Zardeenah's mind with sorrow, and Tash's with exaltation, as they followed the last citizen of Charn back into the void where she would embark on the quest to dominate a world newly born.

_Note from the authoress: Finally a chapter from Tash's perspective, I'm sorry for the lack of dialogue and hope it wasn't too boring for my readers._

_My thanks to RthStewart for requesting more from _Tash_, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and appreciate your detailed reviews._

_If anyone is curious about my explanation of Tash and Jadis's spell, why it specifically required a wanderer, there's an interesting answer._

_Recently I looked up Digory's name, and found that it meant one who wanders or goes astray. That idea coupled with the writing which the children read on the pillar sparked my ideas behind the spell's creation._

_Also I'm working on another short story called Wandering Child which explores scenes from Digory and his mother's perspectives, and the history of Digory's name figures in that tale as well._

_The link is on my profile and I hope to post the next chapter this week._

_To my other readers and reviewers, my thanks for your support and encouragement on this story, I enjoy reading all of your comments._

_Next, even though Charn is dead, Tash and his brethren are still bound to Jadis's destiny, as they travel with her to witness the birth of Narnia and encounter Aslan._


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